Chapter 3: Red Shadow for Mountain Road

Suddenly, engine roar come from far, dey rush come our side. That kain noise for midnight—fear fit enter anybody body. The thing sound like Okada wey dem add turbo.

Uncle Musa body just stiff. He look window, voice dey shake. "Na that red sports car again! E dey follow us!" He no even blink, just dey stare back like person wey see masquerade for night.

Headlight just blind everywhere behind us, and red shadow rush come us. As I look my mirror, na red beam cover everywhere. For Naija, red na colour of danger. My mind start dey pray small small.

I hold steering well. For this narrow mountain road, the engine dey sound like wild animal dey pursue us. I fit feel am for my chest, like thunder dey beat drum inside my rib. My knuckles white as I grip steering, foot dey tap brake, sweat dey prick for my neck.

Kemi hold her pikin dem tight, Uncle Musa for front just hold him head, fear wan finish am. The children sef no dey talk again, na just eyes dem dey use communicate.

I look mirror, see the sports car dey our back, convertible open. Wind dey blow, the car paint dey shine under moonlight, like something from juju film.

The driver hold steering, him head commot half way from window, mouth wide, but na only darkness dey inside, no single sound—like person wey don forget how to talk. My heart skip beat. E no normal at all. Na which kain wahala be this?

Na which kind street racer be this one? I dey reason if na cult boy or yahoo boy wey dey do midnight cruise, but the driver face just blank—e resemble all those horror gist for radio.

I squeeze face, still dey my lane. If na some drivers, dem go try overtake or run, but as I get big truck, I just bone. Make the boy do as e like.

This road na one lane up, one lane down—no be racing ground. The baobab trees stand like old men for village meeting, shadow long reach another lane. If you try run for here, na ditch or baobab tree go collect you.

Horn dey blast anyhow for the empty road, and for the cold night breeze, we fit hear person dey shout like craze. No car, no bike, only us and this wahala car, the sound dey vibrate for my skull.

The driver really dey mad, e dey try squeeze between my truck and the mountain wall. Only mad person go try that thing. The way the car dey snake behind us, na so fear dey snake my mind.

I no give chance, so e just dey horn dey go. No be today I start this work. You go try me, you go tire.

Each time the engine roar, e be like say death dey fly for our head. For my mind, I dey pray: "God, no allow bad thing pass here this night."

Uncle Musa shrink for seat, fear wan finish am, he just dey talk for himself. He dey mumble, "Allah ya tsare mu, Allah ya kare mu," over and over, like old muezzin for mosque.

Corner dey come. I tell the family, "No fear." I try sound strong, but my hand dey shake for steering small.

As the bend reach, I turn steering left, make the truck body block road well. I use my size take block am—if e wan fly, make e try.

The red shadow no fit pass, e jam brake. The sound loud, like tyre dey cry for help. Sparks fly, smell of burnt rubber enter truck.

E be like say fire fly for road, the tire mark long for ground. As the dust settle, I see smoke for my side mirror. My mind calm small.

After that turn, the red wahala just quiet. I still dey look mirror, but nothing dey again. Silence heavy like debt.